The Finer Things In Life
by LilyBolt
Summary: "Shoveling dirt was not easy, but working under pressure was even harder and doing so under life-threatening conditions, with the threatened life belonging not to one's self, but to one's little brother... It was downright awful." A oneshot set shortly after 4x08 "Wishful Thinking". Written for Otorisosa-kan's One Word Prompt Challenge. No slash.


**WARNING: Spoilers for 3x16 "No Rest For The Wicked" onward, but especially for 4x08 "Wishful Thinking".**

**Author's Note: ****This is to fulfill Otorisosa-Kan's One Word Prompt Challenge. My word, provided for me by ImpalaLove, was "elegance". (****I was very pleased to see I'd been given your word, ImpalaLove. It's an honor. lol) Anyway, this takes place sometime very shortly after 4x08 "Wishful Thinking", because Dean made a rather important confession at the end of that episode...  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

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Shoveling dirt was not easy, but working under pressure was even harder and doing so under life-threatening conditions, with the threatened life belonging not to one's self, but to one's little brother...

It was downright awful.

Mid-way through digging up the grave of the latest angry spirit, the vengeful entity itself had made an appearance. Sam, in an effort to keep the ghost away from Dean while he dug, had lured the spirit into a chase and then took off through the nearby forest. At which point Dean had doubled- no, _tripled_\- his shoveling speed, because nothing motivated him quite like the ever-fading sounds of his brother being trailed by a murderous monster that wouldn't stop until Dean completed the job.

Soon Dean's spade struck pay-dirt, and in a flash he scraped the last of the sediments off the remains he had been seeking. He then coated everything in salt and lighter fluid, climbed out of the pit, and tossed a lit _Zippo_ into the hole. Fire consumed the body instantly, but Dean didn't stick around to watch things get toasty. He had a little brother to find, and so he set off at a jog toward the woods which Sam had blundered into with a dangerous ghost on his heels.

It took longer than Dean would have liked- a good fifteen minutes of searching, actually- but Dean finally spotted Sam lying in a large patch of mud on the bank of a small creek.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, veering toward the muck. There was no response as he rapidly made his way over to his sibling and knelt on the muddy ground next to Sam, instantly checking him over to assess the damage.

Sam's chest was rising and falling, which was a good sign. However, his shirt was slashed open in four parallel lines, and as the fabric shifted in the wind Dean could just make out four long, deep gashes across his brother's abdomen. Apparently the ghost had clawed him up pretty badly before Dean was finished with the grave… It didn't look deadly, thank goodness, but the elder Winchester still swallowed back a flare of guilt as he did his best to concentrate on rousing Sam.

Dean grabbed the unconscious man's face with both of his hands and shouted once more, "Sammy!"

It was a huge relief to see the younger man's eyes flicker open, his gaze unfocused until he locked onto Dean. Then he seemed to become aware of his situation.

"Are you ok? Did you burn the remains?" Sam asked immediately.

Dean noted that despite the pained undertone in Sam's voice, the kid had inquired if_ Dean_ was ok, first, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes at Sam's backwards priorities. Instead he let go of Sam's face and began to help him sit up.

"I'm all good and Casper is taken care of. Apparently I got to 'im just in time, too. Before the psycho could give your insides some fresh air," Dean answered, nodding to Sam's torso pointedly. Sam winced and bit back a groan as the motion of sitting upright agitated his injuries.

"It was having a tough time keeping up with me until I hit the mud. Then I slipped and went down pretty hard," Sam explained. "I think I broke my ankle in the fall, too," he added.

Dean immediately turned his attention to Sam's feet. The left ankle was notably swollen and so he gently began to rotate that foot.

"Ow! Dean, what are you-" Sam hissed in discomfort and tried to push Dean's hands away.

"Good news and bad news. First, your ankle isn't broken as far as I can tell. But its definitely sprained, so you're still gonna to need my help back to the car," Dean announced after his careful analysis.

Sam allowed Dean to tug him back to his feet- or foot, as it were- then leaned against Dean's shoulder for support as then they began a gradual trek back to the Impala.

It took a substantial amount of time just to clear the muddy region next to the creek, and after that there was the obstacle-ridden terrain of the forest to contend with. Navigating boulders and tree stumps and random fallen branches was no picnic, and they had to stop every once in a while for Sam's sake. But at long last they exited the woods and arrived at the field where the remains had been buried. There was still smoke wafting from inside the distant grave, and as they passed by, both men grimaced at the smell of burning decay.

"I hate that friggin' stench," Dean griped as they moved along.

Sam went sort of rigid for a moment, the abrupt tension causing Dean to stop walking.

The younger man was staring at the hole still watching the plumes of dark gray as they wafted out, carried lazily by the breeze which was whipping Sam's long hair around his face with all the elegance of Rapunzel in a wind tunnel. Dean nearly chose to make a joke about that, but then he noticed how solemn Sam looked.

"You ok?" Dean asked instead, brotherly instincts stirring once more.

Sam's gaze shifted to him quickly and there was something in his eyes that made Dean uncomfortable. It was as though Sam was scrutinizing his very soul from how intense that look was, and it was a bit unnerving.

The moment passed when Sam said with conviction, "Yeah. I'm fine."

Then they were moving again, but Dean couldn't shake the feeling he'd missed something important. Especially when he realized Sam wasn't leaning on him as heavily anymore.

Finally they arrived at the Impala, her sleek black exterior glinting like a beacon in the fading twilight.

"Alright Sammy, let's get you settled in the back," Dean instructed as he swung the rear passenger door open and helped Sam to situate himself inside the car. Sam ended up propped against the inside of the door with his damaged foot stretched out on the bench-seat. Then Dean passed him a couple of clean handkerchiefs to press against his stomach wounds, which he accepted with a bit of hesitation.

Dean worked his way around to the driver's seat and climbed in himself. He revved the engine and pulled the vehicle out onto the gravel road they had taken to reach the desolate field, and Dean winced in sympathy with every bump of the tires.

"Sorry dude. It's not Baby's suspension, I swear. It's definitely the road, but it gets smoother in another half mile," he remarked over his shoulder to Sam.

"Its fine," came Sam's short reply. Dean glanced in the rear-view mirror and noticed that Sam had taken on a deeply brooding look, and suddenly Dean was sure his little brother had lied both times he'd claimed to be 'fine' that evening.

The thought didn't sit well with Dean.

**OoO**

When they got to their motel room Dean assisted Sam from the car to his twin bed, and then he went to the ice machine to get supplies to take down the swelling on Sam's ankle.

He plopped ice into old plastic grocery bags to form make-shift cold packs and laid them all around Sam's damaged extremity once Sam was sprawled out on the bed. Then, after a heated debate, Dean managed to all but _force_ Sam to take some pain medication.

"I don't need it Dean, I'm fine!" Sam insisted, but hearing that word 'fine' again set Dean off, and so he refused to let up until he saw the pills go down Sam's throat.

"Ok. Sutures time," Dean stated cheerfully after the ankle was taken care of and the medication consumed. The intended effect of those words was for Sam to pull his ripped-up shirt off and settle himself in for Dean to stitch him into one piece again.

What actually happened was that Sam stared at the floor for a moment before mumbling, "That's ok. The cuts aren't really deep. I'm fine."

It was the final straw for Dean.

"Damnit Sam, you are _not fine_! Why do you keep saying that?" Dean yelled in irritation.

Sam flinched back from him, and Dean automatically regretted having used such an aggressive tone. Particularly because he noticed a slight haze had settled across Sam's expression since the pain-meds had taken hold.

"Sorry," Dean hurriedly apologized. "Sorry. I just… What's up with you? It's like you suddenly don't want to take care of yourself at all! Why? Just let me-"

"Because comparatively it's stupid!" Sam cut across him.

They were both quiet for a beat.

"Ok, I'll bite," Dean finally spoke again. "What do you mean?"

Sam sighed and examined the floor some more. Even drugged, he seemed unwilling to go down this conversational path.

But luckily he _was_ drugged, and so with a little patience Dean was rewarded by Sam saying, "You went through...all that, and I just- I can't pretend that _this_," Sam gestured to his ankle and torso before continuing with, "matters compared to _that_," Sam spat out the last word like he hated its taste. He seemed to lose his steam after that point though, fumbling for words that wouldn't come either because his brain was slowed by the medications, or because he couldn't force himself to finish the statement. So he simply went quiet.

Dean stared at him, completely at a loss.

What was Sam even trying to say? What was all this about 'all that' which Dean had apparently gone through? What Dean had done that night was hardly something he'd never experienced before, and it was definitely a lot easier than being ripped up by a ghost… It hadn't even been a very deep grave he'd needed to dig!

Something about that thought struck Dean and he remembered Sam's mood had specifically shifted while they had passed by the grave earlier that evening on their way back to the car; when Sam had stopped to stare at the smoking hole for a moment before giving Dean such a sharp and haunted look that Dean had been genuinely concerned.

And that had been right after Dean said something about hating the smell of burning corpses…

_Oh._

All at once Dean realized what 'all that' was- what Sam had decided made his own wounds 'comparatively stupid'.

Because it had only been a handful of days since Dean had confessed to actually remembering what Hell was like, and though he had been sure Sam would eventually try and get him to discuss his recollections no matter how much Dean insisted he didn't want to talk about them, he had _not_ expected Sam to turn around and also convince himself that any pain he endured was of no consequence when compared to Dean's experience in the Pit.

Dean was alarmed by the notion that Sam was essentially putting himself through indirect torture out of some sick sense of guilt.

"Whoa, ok, I think I get it. But you've gotta hear me out," Dean began in a decidedly gentle voice. "Hell was… Well, I told you before that there aren't words, and there really aren't. None of that matters more than you though. Not to me. _Not ever_. Do _not_ convince yourself you need to suffer on my account, Sam. I don't give a damn what I went through, not a _damn_, when I'm looking at you hurting. I went to Hell so you'd be ok, remember? And I'd do it again. I _swear _I would." Dean took a deep breath, coming down from the momentum of his spiel. "But luckily I don't have to sell my soul to fix you up right now. I just need you to let me stitch those claw marks closed, ok Sammy?" Dean concluded his appeal.

Sam stared at Dean through the speech, his gaze owlish and his lips drawn tight. It was obvious he was very dopey from the pills, but somehow Dean felt that was helping. Whereas Sam would typically have fought against this kind of a talk, or at least argued his own side more fervently, now he seemed willing to actually let Dean's words sink in.

Finally Sam nodded- a firm, determined tilt of the head. Then he tugged off the tattered remains of his shirt and said, "Sorry."

Dean automatically wanted to explain there was no need for an apology, but before he could Sam spoke up once more.

"I'm grateful y'know. For what you did. I didn't say it before because all I could think was that I was gonna lose you. But not many people would make that kind of sacrifice for someone, and I want you to know I appreciate you'd do that for me," Sam confided quietly.

Dean patted Sam's shoulder lightly, pressing Sam back onto the bed at the same time so he could begin the stitches.

"Well most people don't have someone like you to do it for. Trust me, I know I'm lucky to have such an awesome brother," Dean replied honestly. Then he added, "Even if that brother _is_ a total girl about things sometimes," to lighten the mood.

Sam scoffed and Dean set to work.

A few stitches in, Sam stated in a drowsy tone, "Me too."

"Huh?" Dean asked distractedly.

"I know I'm lucky to have such an awesome brother too," Sam clarified.

Dean's hands froze for a moment, but then he coaxed his fingers to start working again. "Ok, so maybe I have an awesome _sister_," he teased.

Sam rolled his eyes at the ceiling, huffing indignantly, and so he never saw the smile Dean couldn't hold back.

Because maybe things were pretty 'fine' after all.

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**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please do leave feedback if you get the chance. It's always appreciated. :) Also, if you're interested in participating in any of Otorisosa-Kan's future writing challenges, check out the link to her challenge forum on her profile, or PM her about it. **


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